


curse you, arthur morgan.

by honey_sweet



Series: red dead drabbles [5]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mild Swearing, Slow Build, Slow Burn, eventual romance? if you squint, lots of cowboy robbery, pitiful attempt at humour, yeehaw madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_sweet/pseuds/honey_sweet
Summary: arthur morgan is not a very good man. you learn that very quickly.but he is also full of surprises, as proved by your many chance encounters over time.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Series: red dead drabbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1312868
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	curse you, arthur morgan.

**Author's Note:**

> again this was a prompt from a friend, and i have nothing better to do. thats a lie i have college work but i dont want to do it.

Despite outward appearances, Arthur was not a very violent man. He had his outbursts whenever Bill was around—but he was, generally, rather mild mannered. That meant that until the moment he had you by the throat and pressed a gun to your temple, you never even registered him as a potential threat.

The first thing that went through your mind was that he was the local sheriff. Which was odd, considering you hadn’t even made a move yet to stick up the teller.

It seemed that he had plans of his own.

“Now, Ladies and Gentlemen,” He yelled right beside your ear. “I’m going to need some co-operation from you all now. Nobody screams, nobody moves. My friends here will be relieving you of your valuables. I suggest you do not resist.” He gestured two other wiry men from the door way with a flick of the gun.

“And don’t you dare move for that gun.” He whispered to you, jostling you around roughly in his grip.

You seethed. He was right, you shouldn’t move for that gun strapped underneath your dress, not because you were incompetent at shooting but simply because you were wildly outnumbered. You’d be an idiot to try overpower a man that was almost half a foot taller than you and probably also had a few kilo advantage over you too.

“Speed things up gentlemen, we seem to have company.” Arthur mumbled, craning his neck to peer out of the thin glass window of the train station. He turned to you afterwards, looking down and squinting at your face.

“Hand over that satchel.”

You refused to move.

“I will shoot you.” He warned.

“I don’t doubt that at all.” You replied.

“Then hand over the damn satchel. I ain’t ever hit a lady before, don’t be the first.”

You eyed up his companions, still shaking down everyone in the room. Rich women covered head to toe in layers of lace and satin. Men with greased moustaches and silk ties around their plump and sweaty necks.

And you, in nothing more than the dress a farmer’s girl would wear. Why would he think you had anything of value? Unless he was watching you. He’d picked up that you had a gun under your dress. What else did he manage to pick up in such a short space of time since you swanned into the train station and feigned interest in the local map of Strawberry underneath an advert for the local Stables...

“I ain’t going to ask again.” He said, spinning you around harshly. His angry breath moved the bandanna around his nose, his mouth shifting the dirty fabric as he talked.

You raised your hand above your head, reaching for the satchel strap and pulling it deliberately slowly over your head.

“Much obliged. Gentlemen, we’d best be leaving.”

His two scrawny dark haired companions dashed for the door, laden down with stolen goods and nothing in the way of remorse. One of them even let out a gravelly laugh as he passed through the doorway.

Arthur was the last one out of the building, waving his gun around at the hostages to ensure that nobody thought about moving. Of course they wouldn’t. The entire station was full of the Saint Denis passengers, none of them would dare move in the face of a countryman with a gun. That was the exact reason you’d picked this station, at this time. You were just trying to get some easy pickings, but these absolute asses had to turn up and steal your thunder.

The only benefit to the whole affair was that you knew who it was that had robbed you. Who didn’t know about the man with the five thousand dollar bounty on his head? Everybody on this side of West Elizabeth knew about him.

But you were the only one to recognise him in the chaos of the robbery.

The local police burst through the door a minute later, but it would be futile chasing after any of them now. They had a head start.

Briefly mourning the departure of your satchel and the stolen jewellery inside that you’d been meaning to pawn off for weeks, you knew there was nothing more you could do. You’d just have to go find somewhere to camp and lick your wounds.

“Oh Arthur Morgan, you’re a dead man.” You whispered, pulling yourself into your saddle by the horn.

*

The knife was dull by now. He would have to get up to sharpen it soon, but he was too absorbed in his own thoughts to care.

Arthur didn’t even register someone calling his name until they were right beside him.

“Arthur!” John yelled, waving a limp hand in front of Arthur’s tired face.

“What d’you want, John?” Arthur sighed, rubbing at his grimy beard. He really needed to go into Valentine for a bath and a shave soon. Grimshaw would be getting on at him about it before too long, but he had been so damn busy recently since Dutch had everyone camped at Horseshoe Overlook.

“Hosea said he’s heading out to Emerald Ranch. Said you should head over as soon as you can.”

“Right.” Arthur sighed, dusting wood chippings off his knees. He tossed the stick he had been whittling into the waning fire.

John meandered off, slinking around in the dusky evening as far away from Abigail as he could get.

Tired, in a sour mood from the day and body aching, Arthur retreated to his tent. The moon was barely visible through the layers of clouds drifting overhead. It was a quiet night. And if he could, he would have gone straight to sleep. Yet all he could do was lie deep in thought, listening to the sounds of the fire crackling slowly fade into birds chirping as morning arrived and he knew he would soon have to go see what Dutch needed today.

*

“Son of a bitch!” You yelled, rifling through your saddle bags. “That bastard.”

Your horse’s tail swished unhappily at the noise of you shouting.

“He took everything. Might as well have taken my gun too because it’s fucking useless without any bullets to shoot from it. That damn scoundrel. I’m going to kill him.” You paced around your small campfire, swearing and mumbling into the evening sky. At this point, you had the clothes on your back, your horse and a tent.

The gun was practically as useless as the dress you had stashed in your tent because all of your bullets had been in your satchel. The very one that Arthur _stole_ from you.

Spitting curses into the cloudy evening, you hunkered beside the fire and eventually the sound of your empty stomach grumbling was all that could be heard.

Curse Arthur Morgan. You’d get that satchel back, come hell or high water.

*

The sun was high in the cloudless sky, but it did not make the day any more pleasant.

You sighed, pulling your hat lower over your eyes. Your still empty stomach ached at this point and your chapped lips only added to your discomfort. Without a satchel you had no water skin. With no water skin you were positively parched. Once more you cursed the man that had almost condemned you to death out here. And once more you squinted into the horizon.

You hadn’t seen anybody all day, not a soul was around. All you were looking for was a quick mark to take some petty cash from. Hold them up on the road in the middle of nowhere and make an easy escape before the local law could even get a whiff of you.

A couple of dollars was all you needed. Hell, even some stolen jewellery would be enough to pawn off for a water skin and some precious bullets.

Just as it was becoming early evening you decided it would be best to set up a small camp. The dusk would conceal any smoke, although it wasn’t like there was anybody around that would spot you from miles around. The heartlands seemed completely empty. It was a grassy wasteland, and you were the only idiot riding around in it.

As you turned your horse to head up a hill towards the cover of the treeline, you briefly saw a tiny silhouette blotted on the very crest of the hill. If you really squinted, you could see the tiniest wisp of smoke winding up into the grey evening sky overhead.

 _Perfect,_ the exact thing you’d been hoping for all day. Maybe you wouldn’t die of dehydration in the middle of the Heartlands after all.

Quickly, you jackknifed your horse towards the trees. Slipping behind the treeline would mean that you had some cover to hide your approach from your unsuspecting target. When you were almost upon them, you dismounted your horse. It would be easier to approach on foot. Less noise, more chance of having the drop on your victim.

For a fleeting moment, as you crouched behind a thicket near the camper’s tent, you worried there was more than one when you heard a voice.

“It’s okay girl. Been a long day, hasn’t it?” A male voice was barely audible. “You’re alright.”

As you dropped lower behind the bushes, you realised it was just a man talking to his horse. He had his back turned to you and head hanging low beneath his own hat. You hoped he wouldn’t turn around soon or else you’d lose your chance to jump him.

Suddenly, you heard something rustle and shift beside you. Apparently the man did too. He whipped around to your direction. You panicked, there was no way you made that sound, but he would be on you in less than a minute.

You were pinched in place, not able to move without giving away your position to the stranger. He tensed up as he took a tentative step towards your hideout.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” He called into the darkening evening.

As he stepped closer his face became clearer in the flickering light from his wan fire. You would have laughed if you weren’t in such a dire situation. Out of every person you could have found to rob, it just had to be Arthur Morgan.

Fate truly was a cruel mistress.

“I said who’s out there?” He called again, hand twitching for his own gun.

You dug your hand around as quietly as possible in the dirt by your feet, looking for something to make a distraction of any kind. Soon, you had a small, rough rock in your palm and you did the first thing you could think of: you threw it into the bushes a few feet away from you to divert his attention.

It landed sharply, rustling the entire bush as it dropped through flimsy branches. He whipped his head around to the source of the sound immediately.

His horse paced on the spot where it was tethered, ears flattened against it’s neck as it let out a strained, fearful whinny.

In a split second, a rabbit shot out from where your stone had landed, dashing right into the clearing in front of Arthur’s feet. It sprinted off quickly, zigzagging under his horse’s feet and off into the night.

He laughed, fingers abandoning his pistol holster.

“It was only a rabbit you silly mare.” He laughed, heading over to calm his horse.

You got off lucky, frankly.

You waited a long while for him to settle in front of the fire. He spent a decent amount of time cleaning his revolver and you knew it was a terrible idea to try jump a man with a gun already in his hand. You had been sat there in wait for so long in the same position your neck was starting to ache and you wanted nothing more than to slump against the nearest tree – but the sound would only give you away. So you gritted your teeth through the aching of your joints and waited. And waited.

Eventually, he placed his pistol back in it’s holster and sprawled out on the ground beside the smokey fire.

That was your chance, he had his guard down.

Taking another small rock in your hands, you employed your distraction tactic from earlier, trying to rustle up the undergrowth to distract Arthur. This time, you aimed a fair distance away, hoping to simply shock some birds into flight. It worked, as a few seconds later a few small sparrows launched from the undergrowth and back into the safety of the tree branches. Arthur barely shifted at the sight, but the sound gave you enough cover to remove yourself from the thicket and into his small clearing on the top of the hill.

Pulling your gun (with no bullets) out, you held it right behind the nape of his neck, letting the cold metal sit there as a warning.

“Don’t move.” You warned, reaching to pull his own gun from his holster and throw it to the ground a few feet away.

He didn’t resist, fully unaware your gun was not loaded. This all rested on Arthur not calling your bluff before you could make a getaway. He sat perfectly still as you reached for his satchel and lifted it to drop his valuables onto the dusty ground.

You noticed him glance sharply at you under the rim of his hat once he could see you over his shoulder.

“Oh. It’s you.” He sighed curtly.

“I’m glad you remember me. This is payback.” You replied, gathering a fistful of dollars in your free hand and cramming them into the frayed pockets of your workman’s trousers.

“Revenge is an idiot’s game.” He grumbled with a hint of amusement. He was starting to annoy you.

“Not when it’s life or death.” You snap, taking a pocket watch from his bag.

Satisfied you had enough to be on your merry way to the nearest town for food and ammunition, you suddenly dropped the gun from behind his head and took off running back into the cover of the trees.

“Now we’re even!” You yelled over your shoulder as the darkness swallowed your retreating figure.

*

You spent two days in Valentine getting back on your feet. You’d replaced the things Arthur had stolen from you, stabled your horse with the livery, even indulged in a bath at the hotel.

Their food was bland and the bedding was the roughest cotton you’d ever felt, but for someone who hadn’t eaten in days and slept on the ground in all weather, it was a luxury you were unused to.

One particular morning, you were in the saloon across the road from the hotel. This was your last day lounging in Valentine before you went back to roaming, stealing and occasionally following bounty posters to a reward.

You leaned against the bar, sipping at a beer and chewing plaintively at some congealed oatmeal. Even this early in the morning people were already blind drunk. The piano in the window never ceased playing and the working women were walking laps around the bar looking for a potential customer.

You were enjoying your own company when two men leaned against the bar a few seats away from you. They paid you no mind, and so you continued to keep to yourself.

One of them quietly asked the bartender for some whiskey, while the other made a show of leaning against the end of the bar and winking at the whores perched on the windowsill. You ducked your head and tried to avoid eye contact as much as you could.

A busty red-head simpered her way over to the man in the bowler hat at the end of the bar, laughing and batting her eyelashes.

The other man simply gestured at one of the other women who joined him without a second thought.

You were just tipping back the last of your beer when the doors swung open once more.

“Arthur! Arthur over here!” The man in the bowler hat called, a hand around the waist of the redhead.

You cringed, ducking behind your hat rim, hoping it wasn’t the same Arthur that you dreaded it would turn out to be.

“Come over here and meet our new friends!” The bowler hat man exclaimed.

“Nice to meet you,” Came the gruff reply. Your blood ran cold. It _was_ the same Arthur that had robbed you and you’d stuck up as revenge. Wonderful.

“Well aren’t you just a tough as teak mountain man!” Exclaimed the busty red-head.

“No you be quiet Anastasia – you can tell he’s a pussy cat.” The other woman interjected, dragging out her last few syllables. You tried to finish your food as fast as you could, hoping to slip away unseen from the saloon and never return.

“Yes! Yes, he’s a pussy... cat.” The bowler man replied, glancing at Arthur when he paused. “Ain’t that so, Arthur?”

“Whatever you say.” Arthur sighed at his friend. “How much you cost anyway?” He asked, eyeing up the redhead with a level stare.

Your food was being choked down at record speed, just to try and evade being recognised.

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” Teased the red-head.

“I didn’t know I was talking to a lady.” Arthur shot back. You held in a laugh, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

“Excuse me.” The red-head replied curtly, turning and walking off. The man in the bowler hat simply sighed, while the long haired companion tried to reach for the retreating women.

“You’ve got a fine way with the women, amigo.” Sighed the man in the bowler hat.

“Yeah, regular dandy and a charmer.” Arthur replied, reaching for a drink.

You retreated from your perch, hunching your shoulders and making a break for the door.

Just as you were about to reach the door, a large man with shoulders almost as wide as the doorway—and a gut that barely even fit through either—burst through in front of you. He barrelled you onto the floor and bounced another man against a table.

He was staggering around, clearly drunk.

“Watch where you’re going!” The large man screamed, waving his arms around angrily.

“Hey! Watch it!” The other man yelled back.

“Is he about to kiss that man or punch him?” Arthur asked from behind you. The man in the bowler hat offered you a hand off the floor and you pulled yourself up by his forearm, avoiding looking at Arthur.

The large intruder headbutted the man he had in a tight collar grip, causing people to stand up from chairs hastily and dive in wildly with fists swinging.

“We have an answer!” The man in the bowler hat yelled, pushing you behind him. Caught off balance, you slammed backwards into the wood grain of the bar. The force of it knocked the wind from your body and you spend a second trying to force your lungs to work again.

Glass was being smashed all around the room, furniture scraping against the floor as tables are abandoned.

You staggered forward, taking a few steps towards the door, still wheezing from the shock of the force to your spine.

As you approached the doorway, Arthur was slammed backwards onto the ground in front of you, another large man pinning him to the floorboards.

Head slightly spinning, you unthinkingly reached for your revolver and slammed the handle of it into the temple of Arthur’s attacker, not even wincing at the sickening crunch that followed the sound of it connecting.

The man slumped, dropping his grip on Arthur’s lapels. Arthur shoved the unconscious body off of him onto the floor, looking up to meet your gaze as you stand towering over him.

“It’s you.” He simply says, wiping at his bloody nose.

You don’t reply, simply stepping around him to dash into the street.

“Thank you!” He yelled after your retreating form, quickly scrambling back up to help Javier.

*

You turned your horse away from the trapper’s stall above Riggs’ station, slowly picking your path down the hillside. The mossy rocks made footing difficult so you took it slowly, relieved to have finally unloaded your stockpile of deerskins that had been piling up over the past few weeks.

As you approached the bottom of the slope a familiar face headed towards you. It was Arthur, steering his horse towards the same narrow path you were descending.

“...Mornin’” He mumbled, unsure if you were the person he thought you were.

“Morning.” You reply, turning off the path to allow him to pass. You hadn’t actually seen him in a week or two since the incident in the bar in Valentine.

He doesn’t move at first.

“I- ah. Thank you for the help at the bar.” He said quietly, not really looking at you.

Unsure of how to reply, you simply say:

“He’s in a bad mood. I wouldn’t haggle if I were you.” With as much of a polite smile as you can manage before you continue on your way.

He laughed quietly to himself as you leave.

*

It continues for several more weeks. You cross paths with each other more and more, to the point where you both begin to silently question if the other is following you. Neither of you are, of course, but it certainly seems that way.

At first, it just turns into simple passing conversations about where the best places to catch fish are, or where to find herbs, or warnings about local police patrols. Nothing more than that.

You offer each other information in passing, subsequent conversations becoming gradually longer. Eventually Arthur learns your name, which he is thankful for. It was getting awkward for him to not even know your name, but then again it was a strange friendship that had formed. He stole from you by chance, you stole from him by chance in retaliation. You stumbled across him in a bar and saved him from a beating. You ran into each other outside the trapper’s station, swapped information about hunting and gathering grounds, and barely went beyond that.

Until one time.

You were camped in the hills outside Strawberry, a cliff to your back for protection and a fire crackling with freshly charred rabbit meat.

The approaching sound of hoof beats alerted you to the arrival of another person, and you were immediately on edge at the prospect. Intruders almost always meant trouble.

As the shadowed form of a horse and rider approached, you stood up in front of the fire and called out to them with your gun outstretched in front of you.

“Who are you? Stop where you are!”

“It’s Arthur you dumb-ass!” He cried back.

“How the hell can I see you when it’s this dark you idiot! I could have shot you!” You returned, lowering your gun as he freely approached.

“You’d have missed.” He stated wryly, dismounting his horse and tethering her beside yours.

You snort in reply, not even willing to indulge him. You instead turned your attention towards stoking the fire passively.

“Why are you even out here?” You asked, occasionally glancing over at him while he unsaddled his horse.

He simply shrugged in response. It was starting to dawn on you how odd it was that he was frequently wandering the wilderness on his own when you _knew_ he had a gang to return to whenever he wanted to. So why did he spend so much time alone? It would be safer for him, without a doubt.

“On the run?” You joked, gesturing to the food over the fire. He nodded and took up the smaller piece of rabbit haunch. You didn’t speak about it, neither of you liking taking thanks and being too anti social to have a friendly exchange of gratitude. You spoke through your actions to each other. Trading information and offering sanctuary at campfires in passing. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Aren’t we all?” He replied, crouching opposite you and glancing over the flames.

“Some more than most.” You laugh, looking at your boots. “But you have others to go back to, so why hang around alone when you have the rest of your people?”

He shrugged again.

“Some of them get on my nerves.” He admits. “And I’m starting to worry things are going too far.”

“Is there anything as too far for an outlaw?” You ask, noticing him flinch at the mention of the word outlaw.

“We weren’t always bad men. Believe it or not we actually tried helping people.” He whispered, more to himself than to you. You didn’t press further, knowing how much you yourself hated people pressing you for information. Not that it had happened in a long time since you made a break on your own.

You silently offered him your half empty bottle of rum that you’d been swigging at through the evening. He took it with wordless gratitude.

“You looked like you needed it.” You admitted, leaning back to stare at the silvery surface of the moon rising above the trees.

“This is terrible!” He cried, spitting out his mouthful and coughing away the fiery alcohol. “It tastes like piss!” He added, scowling at the bottle.

You sat bolt upright, offended.

“I’m sure you’d know!” You snatched the bottle back indignantly.

He laughed heartily at you, his scowl transitioning with his drawled mirth.

“Where’d you steal it from? A dead man?” He continued to laugh.

“I bought it, actually.” You mumbled, cradling the almost empty bottle in your dirty hands.

“You’ve been robbed, then.” He continued to chuckle, scratching at his beard and letting his long legs fold in front of the small fire.

“Well there’s no need to be an ungrateful ass!” You cried back, holding the bottle against you with barely concealed anger.

Arthur continued to laugh, eventually leaning back to lie on the floor, staring at the stars. Eventually his laughing died down. He was silent for so long that you began to wonder if he’d fallen asleep on the other side of the dying fire.

“...Thank you. I needed that.” He sighed, pulling his hat over his eyes. “I feel like a mighty fool lately.”

“You _are_ a mighty fool.” You grumbled, finishing off your rum.

He raised a thick eyebrow at you, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t I know it.” He eventually whispered.

“I think it’s all about over now. We’re backed into a corner we can’t get out of. I just realised far too late for it to matter.” He rolled over to grab for his bedroll, and you were starting to feel unsettled at how much he was talking, at how freely he was revealing these pieces of information about himself when he never had before.

“Been chasing a shadow all along, what a fool I am. Of course it was never going to work out.”

You didn’t know what to say, you had no idea how to help. And you had no idea why you felt that you had to comfort him, but you just did. It was inexplicable, but you felt like he needed somebody – you could see he was lonely.

And although he was only on the other side of the fire, he had never felt so far away.

*

You heavily disliked camping in Scarlet Meadows. Not just because of the dust, but because of the murky, lingering moisture in the air of Lemoyne. You woke up drenched in sweat and even the lake water was lukewarm so there was never any respite from the heat and the dust.

You refused to move closer towards the swamps of Lakay, because the mud was even worse than the dust in your eyes.

For the last few days you’d been feeling rather unsettled by Arthur’s outburst over your campfire. Something must have been seriously bothering him to cause him to share things like that with you - and the worse part was that you’d not seen him in a decent few weeks. It was almost as if he had completely vanished from the face of the Earth, without even leaving a trace behind.

Well, that wasn’t completely untrue, the bounty posters for the Van Der Linde gang were the only trace left that confirmed you hadn’t completely imagined him.

You weren’t unused to being alone, wandering in any direction you decided suited you, setting up camp wherever took your fancy and hopping between towns on a whim. But since Arthur’s complete disappearance, the world suddenly felt a whole lot bigger without him to turn up at your campfire or by your hunting grounds, or at a saloon in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe you didn’t really know him, but it was odd without your new found friend to cross paths with.

You would maybe go so far as to say you felt lonely.

The dust built as you moved towards the centre of Rhodes, carriages and horseshoes shifting the dust constantly. It was almost unbearably warm as the sun beat down on you, but you needed money, you needed some form of work be it bounty hunting or something more illicit on the back alley black market. It was a small town, but there was always work in the middle of nowhere like this. Someone would need something and would be willing to pay.

Train stations and saloons were the best places to start – newspaper sellers, posters and gossip from travellers made for a rich pool of potential leads to start looking into.

When you’d dismounted your horse and tethered her to the hitching post outside the station doors, a young boy in threadbare, oversized clothing came dashing over to you. He had a sheen of sweat on his chubby face, red cheeks from youth and boots that were clearly a hand-me-down rattling on his feet.

He waved around a stack of newspapers, shouting about the newest stories in the print.

You dropped a few coins into his grubby palm and sauntered off with a crisp paper folded under your elbow. You leaned against the station wall in the shade while you read, looking for any mentions of bounties, criminals or any new found fortunes large families had claimed.

Anything that you could use to get some fast money and be on your way.

There was one thing that caught your gaze as you flipped through the flimsy pages: a story running from Saint Denis, about a botched bank robbery… the Pinkerton Detective Agency had busted it and managed to arrest one member of the Van Der Linde gang, and had killed at least two more.

You started to panic, sweating in fear, despite not knowing any of those people.

‘ _The rest of the culprits attempted escape on a cargo vessel bound for Spain. It is understood that the ship was successfully sunk in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. There were no survivors found. Finally the West is scourged of the nuisance and terror of the Van Der Linde gang, due to the courageous efforts of the_ _American government and the Pinkerton Detective Agency.’_

… He was dead.

*

Arthur sighed. He should have left when he had a chance all those years ago. Hosea left with Bessie. He should have left when…

He should have left after Isaac was born.

He should have never looked back.

But he didn’t. Because he thought they were family. He did anything he had to for them, and they used to help people, many many years ago. He used to be able to do good things, but now he could only get people he cared about killed.

Dutch hated him.

He supposed he deserved that for disobeying him and going after John with Sadie. He supposed it was because he encouraged the women to leave while they still could. He supposed it was because Hosea was gone.

So he slouched against the rough grain of the bar table. It was chipped and covered in the sticky residue of spilled alcohol – there were dents and dark stains he could only assume to be blood from bar fights. He didn’t expecting anything less from the worst bar in the belly of Saint Denis.

Nobody would look for him here. Nobody asked questions, no names were taken, no small talk made. People just came, drank and left. It was a place for lost people, evil people, and the forsaken people.

Arthur thought he fit right in.

The hinges on the door squealed as the newest patron arrived. Nobody even glanced up from their drinks, Arthur least of all.

He just continued swiping his finger along the rim of his glass and occasionally taking swigs of cheap whiskey.

“Whiskey.” Came a terse, cracked voice from beside him at the bar. A few cents rolled along the bar and a glass was set down. He didn’t even bother to glance over at the new intruder to his miserable sanctuary.

He stayed sat in silence for a few minutes, wallowing within himself. He was glad he was presumed dead, because it meant that he could get away with turning up in shady bars and drinking himself silly for a few hours.

That was the only benefit he really saw to it.

Suddenly, a tentative voice perked up:

“Arthur? You’re alive?”

He snapped his head to the side, only to find you standing there, whiskey glass to your parted lips and eyes wide in shock. He hadn’t seen you in what he could only guess to be months, but his sense of time was somewhat warped as of late.

“Unfortunately so.” He sighed, returning to looking at his glass.

You moved closer, taking a seat directly next to him.

“I thought you were dead … I mean that’s what everyone was saying. You had me worried.” You whispered urgently.

“You shouldn’t have been worried.”

“When I heard what happened… I- Arthur I’m glad that you’re okay.” You admitted.

He stayed quiet, trying to say as little in the conversations you kept trying to start.

“I don’t know why you’re talking to me. That’s a poor choice.” He eventually grumbled, staring at you angrily.

“Because you vanished without a word. I thought something had happened and then I hear you’re dead? Of course I’m going to be concerned.” You scowl back at him.

“And I told you not to be.”

“Whatever you say, Arthur.” You sigh, standing up and turning towards the door. “I think you should come with me. The offer is there. I’m leaving in the morning. Leave this behind like you said you wanted to.” You add, brushing past his shoulder as you left.

Arthur sighed again. He was already a dead man walking. He’d had way too many chances in this life than he should have.

*

The fire crackled angrily, popping embers and slowly collapsing on itself as it burned away. You tossed a few more pieces of damp kindling onto it, watching as the smoke wisps gathered up into the sky.

Your horse stamped it’s feet and swished away flies, eyelids dropping as she began to doze in the evening.

You simply laid back on your bedroll, hands folded behind your head as you scowled at the moonless night sky.

Stewing in your thoughts, you sat up and cradled your head in your hands, mulling over if it would be a good idea to try and track Arthur down, or if he wouldn’t want to see you around after he brushed you off at the bar. He’d been miserable then again, even more so than the night before he vanished from your campfire outside Valentine.

Maybe it wasn’t your place to say anything, but you couldn’t just sit and watch him leave without even trying to taste what things would be like otherwise. You couldn’t watch him do that to himself when he had so much more to live for, so much more to do than become the shadow of a dead man drinking in the middle of nowhere.

Hoof-beats approached. You could hear them building in the silence of the night, coming closer and closer, deliberately picking a path over to your fire.

“Who’s there?” You tiredly ask into the darkness, reaching for your revolver.

There was no immediate reply.

“I said who’s there?” You tried again, patience wearing thin.

“It’s Arthur you dumb-ass.”

You were astounded, he actually took you up on your offer. You didn’t think he would.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” You admitted, watching him come closer to the burning wood pile in front of you.

He dismounted and sat beside you, shoulders almost touching.

“So,” He began, tipping his head back to look into the night sky. “Where are we going?”

You laughed, not sure you could believe he’d changed his mind so quickly.

“Anywhere you want to go.” You admitted.

Arthur laughed, leaning back to lie beside you in front of the fire. Maybe he could be gruff, and violent and a bit of an ass at times, and maybe he wasn’t the best around people, but he was trying.

He had a new opportunity presenting itself to him, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.


End file.
